


The Best Deceptions

by queenslayer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenslayer/pseuds/queenslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have thought about turning this into more, but for the time being it is just drabble, a moment, a memory, ya know, all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Deceptions

Cersei didn't how long she sat in that hot bath. It could have been minutes, perhaps hours, she didn't know, and in that moment, it mattered not. Her skin was a rosy pink, splotchy and raw from all the scrubbing. The hard bristles of her washing brush had tore away at her skin as she failed to feel clean. When she withdrew her hands from the water, her fingertips were pruned and wrinkled as she flexed them back and forth, the feeling of emptiness . A breeze made its way in through the sheer curtains of her balcony, whipping in the filthy smell of the city, something she had grown accustomed to after all the time she had spent living in the capital.

It was in moments like these that she found herself missing the salt of the Sunset Sea. The smell of clean air, and the days in which she used to dream of being queen and all the fairy tales seemed like promises. She could taste the salt on her lips, even now, and the way her hair curled under the glow of the summer sun after a day of swimming. Her thoughts naturally drifted to Jaime, and how they used to play together when they were young. There were a bank of rocks, just at the shoreline on the west end of Casterly Rock that rested just under the surface of the water. She and her brother used to balance on them, the slippery seaweed under their feet, toes clutching to see which one could outlast the other. Naturally, Cersei always won, distracting Jaime in some way to make him lose his balance. Their mother, lady Joanna, had scolded Cersei many times for that, especially the instance in which Jaime had lost several of his teeth when his face all but bounced off one of the rocks after a fall. A sad smile cracked across her lips, imagining him smiling through his bloodied mouth as their mother was horrified at the sight.  
But, found her good thoughts were instantly poisoned when the events of the previous eyeing crept into her mind once more. She picked up the washing brush again, and began to violently scratch at her skin. 

Her husband Robert had made his way into her chambers late, after Cersei had already fallen asleep. She awoke startled when she heard him drunkenly fall over her vanity, allowing her powders and perfumes to scatter about the floor. He rose to his feet, laughing, a canteen of wine still in his hand. He ungracefully stalked toward her, smelling of alcohol and of his dead hunt. She stood quickly, placing her palms firmly on his chest, offering him a sweet smile, "Robert, my love, please, sleep here tonight, you must be exhausted from the day's events. Just sleep now." He tossed the canteen aside and wrapped his large fingers all the way around her bare arm. Pulling her closer to him and further from the feather bed. She stood in his shadow, looking away from him as he brought his lips to her neck. "I want you...” he said, his tongue scratching her neck, "You've denied me for months, and I am the king! You cannot deny me any longer, my queen. You are mine to do as I see fit." She clenched her jaw tightly, grinding her teeth. Cersei tried to free her arm from his hold, but when she did, he struck her across her face. It was harder than she had remembered, and the sting bit at her skin. She would not cry for him, never again would she cry for him. She had made that promise long ago. Resisting him was futile and foolish, so she clenched her jaw tightly as he turned her around and lifted her night dress. He entered her roughly and she had wished to all the Gods, if she ever had believed in them that he would hit her instead. She'd rather be black and blue for weeks than have to feel him desecrate her womb. She tried to relax her body, to make it easier, but it resisted. She made no sound, curling her fingers against the sheets, her eyes fixed on the wall. His fingers dug into her left hip, while his other hand held her head against the mattress. He was finished in a matter of minutes.

He fell asleep in her bed that evening. Never before had he stayed the night there. She lied there next to him, her eyes open, enduring the stench of death that slid off his body and into the bed, her hair. He left early in the morning without a word, and she immediately instructed one of her handmaidens to draw her a bath and to burn her sheets. And there she sat, fighting back the tears, feeling humiliated and defeated, violated and wounded. The rage swelled in the pit of her stomach, churning, but she knew there was absolutely nothing that could be done about it, not now, at least. This was hardly the first time that this had happened and she knew it wouldn't be the last. 

She thought about sinking herself into the bath, allowing the water to fill her lungs. The heaviness would feel good, she thought, slipping into an unconscious state and drifting far from here. But she couldn't leave her children, never would she leave them. And Jaime, her brother, her lover Jaime, never would she go without a goodbye. She laid raw, in the cooling water, wishing she could see him. She willed him to know that she needed him now, living in her beloved fairy tale, being the queen.


End file.
